Magic
by RosieMary
Summary: The struggle of Cackle's Academy's non-witch and her desires. Fem-Slash.


Magic.

Imogen Drill couldn't use it. Couldn't _feel_ it coursing through her. She had not been born a sorceress. Yet she lived and taught in a school of witchcraft.

She was respected. She was liked, but always partly an outsider, and not one of the elite.

Using her non-magical training she believed that physical exercise would teach the girls in her charge teamwork skills. Teach them discipline. But not even the harshest gym mistress's definition of discipline could compete with that of her superior, both professionally and in terms of power, Constance Hardbroom.

Well, Miss Hardbroom's magic radiated. Reverberated in the air. Imogen could feel the tiny hairs on her arms prickle whenever the deputy head teacher was near. Constance's magic seemed to almost whisper to her, giving her insight to the woman herself.

Sometimes, when sitting alone in a classroom with the door closed, she heard it as a faint buzzing in the air and she knew the witch was walking past, although she could not hear her footsteps.

At other times, when there was no outward sign of stress on the potions mistress's face, Imogen could sense her inner feelings. Nervous – a slight flutter in the vibrations. In a rage – they were sharper. Faster. Exhausted – hardly there at all.

She had once asked Amelia Cackle, the kind headmistress, if it was possible for her to feel the presence of magic in the air of the castle.

Amelia had answered, 'Well, we witches know it everywhere, surrounding every brick in the walls. But I doubt you could feel even the most potent energies, were there not some deeper connection to their keeper'.

Imogen had let her believe it was just a general question, and had not given any indication of Miss Hardbroom's involvement.

She knew what the connection could be. _Lust_.

Love?

Certainly one, and possibly even the other. Yet Imogen didn't dare express either.

Instead, she exercised caution – and just simply exercised.

She jogged to release tension, built up all day by working in close proximity to the object of her desire. Desire to feel her heart racing, temperature rising, sweat cooling and mind blanking.

She achieved a version of this by breaking into a run. Finishing her trek in the woods and re-entering the castle grounds, she broke her own records in speed, sexual frustration causing her to pound the ground harder than it deserved.

She was so fast, she almost didn't come to a halt when her path was blocked by Miss Hardbroom. The woman had just appeared from nowhere, her flowing black hair giving the impression of a dark queen maintaining order in her kingdom.

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as she struggled to maintain her balance.

Constance instinctively reached out her arms to steady her.

'I'm sorry, Miss Drill.' Constance began 'I thought you were a pupil out of bounds'.

Imogen, who had just stopped gasping from the strenuous run, still had quickened breathing due to the unexpected physical contact. Constance's hands remained lightly gripping her waist.

After Imogen caught her breath, she looked up to meet the taller woman's eyes. Constance became awkwardly aware of the location of her hands and began to move them away.

Out of nowhere, Imogen decided she couldn't lose this closeness, not yet, and clasped each hand in her own.

Miss Hardbroom was surprised. A slight falter in her magic. Nervous. She moistened her lips, not sure what to expect – and for once, she was uncharacteristically silent.

She hesitated for a moment.

'Well?' she asked.

There was none of the usual malice Miss Drill had come to expect from this one-word question. Her voice had shaken, her eyes were unsure.

Imogen had no answer for the witch. She released Constance's hand with a small smile.

'Sorry to disturb your rounds, Miss Hardbroom'.

Embarrassed, Miss Drill moved past Constance and headed into the castle and to her rooms.

Constance shrugged slightly as the other woman called good night, as if to acknowledge it had been as much her mistake.

She lingered for a moment longer, still a little dazed.

For a moment, just one moment, she thought she was about to be kissed.

She had hoped.


End file.
